The Coldest Flame
Book 1 of Silver Rain | Book 2 of Silver Rain Ryōshi I Only the fierce flames of war could churn up such a horrid sight, burning a man for who he was, not for what he had done. “He is a servant of the monster, Yanma no Enma. For that, we shall give him to the fires.” Akakōro Village was once a fishing village, and technically, they still were. But none shared the sentiment that Ryōshi had, about fishing to feed the hungry masses, to serve his duty to the village. People threw down their nets, and raised their shoddy weapons up against the shinobi of Iwagakure. “Foreigners who want to do us harm, who treat us like second class citizens in our own homes,” a speaker from Oni had come to the village not even a fortnight ago, and he had already swayed the masses to their cause. They were nothing but rebels, rebels who proclaimed rising up against our oppressors, all the while they hid behind white masks. They were cowards. But many called them the Demons of the Hidden Rain, and despise calling them demons, clung to them as though their lives depended on it. Ryōshi was no friend to the shinobi of Iwagakure, but burning a man who bore its crest should not be the kind of actions that Oni promoted. What happened to peace? To serving your fellow man and treating them as equals? What made Oni different then the shinobi who came into foreign lands to slaughter and rape its people? Nothing as far as Ryōshi was concerned. The village shaman sat with a pipe in her hand, packing it with some weird smelling herbs, beneath a black umbrella. She, like Ryōshi, had come to see what the masked Oni man would do to the capture Iwagakure shinobi. “Do not act brash, child. It is not wise to rise up against the fires, especially when they have consumed so many innocent lives.” “I will not be branded as someone who sentences a man to death, without a trial. Nor will I watch any man be put to the torch. We are not savages, elder. We are fisherman.” “Fisherman? Aye, we wait for the tides to bring in something fresh. We take our nets and we blindly throw them in, and we take up whatever is caught in the net. We have taken to their cause,” she nodded to the man from Oni, a man dressed in a long black cloak behind a white featureless mask. “And they are snagged in our net. It will take a strong pair of hands to pry them out.” Ryōshi sighed, “What if I was those hands? If someone gets rid of the Oni, then nobody can tell us to burn men, or act like monsters.” “More will come,” she lit her pipe and took a long drag. The smoke was green colored, thick and potent, and it made Ryōshi cough. “The tides of war do not stop for one man. Now silence with these talks, child. Or you will be the next to burn.” She was right. They would burn anyone who stood against their cause, whether they be of rock or rain. There were people like Ryōshi, people who wanted alternatives to peace, and they were labeled as traitors. That was the price to pay to dance with the demons. They turn the masses against you, until one zealous man acts up, and kills you in your home. That way, no member of their cause has dirty hands, and they can pass the death off as another casualty of war. Grim tactics for grim folk. Ryōshi rose from his seat, ran a hand through his hair, “I will bring you some fresh fish tomorrow, elder.” “Thank you, child, now go find your peace.” And he left to do as she bid. Heading in the opposite direction of the pyre, where the flames were starting to simmer down. As he left, Ryōshi caught one last glimpse at the man, who was nothing but a charred corpse, figures extinguished in the smoke, mouth opened wide where his final screams had escaped him. A red-cross sat on his shoulder, smoldered to a crisp, but almost recognizable. He was no shinobi, he was a medic, come to see if anyone needed assistance. Ryōshi cursed, and plunged his hands into his pockets, fishing for his lucky knife. When angered, he liked playing with it, flicking it open and closed, feeling the hard pearly white handle, running his fingers across the neat design that was carved onto its surface. The blade gave him some sense of comfort, knowing that he could defend himself if need be. When angry, it let him know that he still had some power to fend off even his wild emotions. He had never wanted to hurt again, so he clung to the knife in an ironic sense of relief. The world seemed so wild now, with war enveloping Amegakure for what seemed liked the hundredth time. Perhaps Amegakure was destined to burn away into nothing but ash. The other villages love coming in and taking over, how would they feel about being a king of the ashes? They would burn us down like the demon burned that medic, for the sake of showing how strong they are. "Today I will fish, and tomorrow I will fish again, that is what I will do while they sit there and burn everything down. And when the people and the world are in ashes, I will stoke cook my fish in the flames of their destruction." Heading home to retrieve his pole, Ryōshi pondered the thought of how well his fish would taste in a world with nobody to enjoy it with. Kuchisake I Muffled moans and gasps of air escaped the third window on the fourth floor of the Wild Bears Den, the stable that Kuchisake had made her second home, after putting so much money and time into its fit workers. She looked up in curiosity, behind her mask, breathing rhythmically in tune with the drops of rain all around her. A chill ran down her spine, and she made her way into the establishment, soaked to the bone beneath her thin small clothes. "Welcome back, kitty," one man purred. "Still have your claws? Good." She did not move as two men surrounded her, one with a soft smile on his face, the other hulking and dark haired, with a scarred body. She recognized every single face. She had been with every single face. She knew them all, every part of their bodies. And she was bored of them all. "Back off her, we aren't fucking hounds in this establishment running up to the nearest person begging for scraps." Kuchisake twitched at the sound of the gruffest voice she had ever heard, the voice of the only woman in Amegakure that she respected. "Kirai-sama," Kuchisake gave the woman a slight nod. "I was wondering if I could speak to you privately." Kirai's brow furrowed. "I've told you once before, child. I am a manager of a respectable establishment, I have no hand in those little games you play in the shadows," she poured herself a glass of wine, purple as a plump grape, strong enough to smell from where Kuchisake stood. "If you won't have a man, then you know where the door is." "I'm not looking for help, I'm here to sell information." "What sort of information?" Kirai's interest was peaked. "It better be something good, I don't like my time wasted." "May we go somewhere more... private," Kuchisake said, using one hand to fend off a muscular young man with long blonde hair who kept pecking her on the back of the neck with light kisses. Kirai growled and the blonde haired man leaped back, scowling as he left the room. "Come with me," Kirai said, leading Kuchisake into the back room of the Wild Bears Den. The room was small, compact, and smelled like an old wine cellar, mostly because it was an old wine cellar. Kuchisake eyed the different vintages, running a finger along the casks. She found that breathing was harder down here, where the air was musty, and her eyes began to water. "So what is this information... is it about the war?" "Somewhat. I intercepted a message between two members of Oni." Kirai's eyes widened, "What? Are you fucking mad?" "I didn't directly intercept it, it happened by chance. But now I have this information, and you are my go-to for this kind of stuff, Kirai-sama." The woman sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers. "Well, you have the information. Lay it on me, and you have your money." Kuchisake dug into her pocket, removing a wet, crumbled up piece of paper. "It is barely legible, but you can make out a fair bit of it," she said, handing Kirai the piece of paper. The stable keeper read it over as Kuchisake spoke. "Oni is going to start a much larger movement soon, one of many. They're calling it the Coldflame Act. Judging by the letter, they are going to start training civilians, teaching them how to fight. If enough civilians across the country can fight, then when Oni gives word, they can all attack at once across the country. Yanma no Enma won't know where to go to first, and then Oni can go in and kill him while his men are spread across the country." "It only say here about the plan to train operatives in the surrounding villages, where are you getting the rest of the information?" Kirai questioned. Kuchisake stopped in front of an old cask, reading the words etched onto it. "This one has aged quite a long time. How come you haven't drank it yet?" "It's a rare vintage, now tell me, how do you have that information?" Kirai was getting impatient. Her pupils vibrated with intensity, her hands clenched tightly as Kuchisake stalled her answer, if only by a few seconds. "The man I intercepted it from, he was one of the villager trains. It took a bit of convincing, but I got it all out of him. I forced him to drink two bottles of sake, then I slipped him a small poison pill. Pushed him down the river, it'll look like he got drunk and drowned. I cover my grounds Kirai, his death will not be traced back to you." Kirai smiled, "How would you like to be paid?" "This cask will do fine, Kirai-sama," Kuchisake said, tapping the very old vintage. "If you can have one of those fine strapping men deliver it to my normal address by tonight, I'd be very appreciative." Kirai nodded, "You've earned it, child." Leaving the Wild Bear Den was hard for Kuchisake, who so very much yearned the comfort of a man, but she had business to attend to. Thanking Kirai for the deal, Kuchisake melted into the rain, becoming one with the puddles that were forming on the ground all around the stable. Rising from a pool of water atop an apartment complex in northern Ame, Kuchisake nodded to the hooded figure who was already waiting there. "Did you feed her the information, Black Cat?" the hooded figure asked. Kuchisake nodded. "Yes, and she ate it up hungrily. Are you certain that she was the one who has been relaying information to Yanma no Enma? I am surprised he deals with a male prostitute house owner, of all people." "We have reason to believe that Yanma is no stranger to a single... should I say... persuasion. But that is besides the point," the hooded man lowered his hood, revealing a plain white mask with two flits for eyes. The man had a demonic aura around him, like he could kill Kuchisake at a moments notice, and feed on her corpse for the sake of it. But she knew he would not, for she had done what he told her too. "You're payment will arrive tomorrow night. And expect us to take up your services again, Black Cat. Oni thanks you." "I will have all of my medicine?" Kuchisake questioned. Her voice cracked a bit beneath her breathing mask. "All of it. And more in due time. Now leave before someone sees you, there are very few lovers of cats in this village." Kuchisake nodded, and leaped down off the building, landing on her feet gracefully like a cat. "Perhaps there is another stable in this village that's still open..." she wondered curiously, her body warm and yearning for paid companionship.